She Knows Him So Well
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: There's no mistaking that look in his eyes... Florence isn't stupid. She can see what's going on- but the only thing she can really do now is sit back and watch things unfold. Pretty much canon. Implied Kings. Anatoly/Freddie, Florence/Anatoly. Oneshot.


**A/N: More Chessfic! For Inky! Predictably xD For the prompt "Florence knows about Freddie's crush all along" so here we go kay? (And yes Elizabeth- Florence continues to be Freddie's hag.) Reviews are love.**

Disclaimer: _Pity the child who doesn't own Chess._

**The Prelude**

There's no mistaking it. It starts months before they even set foot in Merano, before Freddie even has his first interview about the upcoming World Championship match. It starts when a dark-eyed Russian appears on their television set, smiling politely as he's introduced- the challenger.

So this was the guy who wanted Freddie's title, huh?

Freddie turns up the volume, blue eyes glued to the screen, an odd look in them- one that she's seen before but knows by now not to comment on.

"Mr. Sergievsky will be escorted to Italy for the Championship next year to face Frederick Trumper, the current Champion hailing from the United States-"

It's in the way that his jaw tightens, and not out of anger, the way he swallows every time that face comes on screen. There's a subtle sort of way that he shifts his weight, crossing his legs, before he finally shuts off the television and storms out without a word.

Florence wonders sometimes if Freddie thinks she's blind.

**The Arrival**

There's no doubting, the moment that they step out of the airport, that Freddie is on a mission. He looks like a hound, continually glancing around as though keeping an eye out for something- _or someone_- in a constant state of growing agitation.

"Fucking commies everywhere," he explains away, muttering under his breath, but she knows the difference between paranoid and anticipation and it's written in every line of Freddie's body.

He's looking for the man… Sergievsky.

She rolls her eyes as he goes on, for the fourteenth or fifteenth time that day, about how much he "hates" him. He's seen every interview, he boasts, and the guy is a chump. Just another Soviet bastard out to steal glory from America. Which, he reminds her, is rightfully is- he's the best in the world, after all, and he's proved it more than five years in a row. This'll be a piece of cake.

Never mind that they sleep in the same bed, that she can hear the things he says in his sleep, little groans that sound suspiciously like the Russian's name. Never mind that he's become increasingly obsessed, these past weeks, with meeting the other man-

What should he wear? How should he act? What should he say? "You keep me polite, Florence, if anyone should tell me what to do it's you."

When your boyfriend sits up early on a Sunday morning, wide awake because he's been waiting all night to see his opponent's next television appearance, you start to realize that there's something funny going on.

And now that they were here, all she could do was sit back in bemusement and watch things unfold.

**The Hotel**

She honestly doesn't know why she didn't predict this. There had been rumors floating around since the very beginning of Freddie's professional career, none of which they had made any significant effort to quell- and the press this year were feeling daring, feeling that they had the right to ask these sorts of questions because it was a _Cold War conflict_, a special occasion.

"Freddie, calm down-"

"No! I refuse! This is an _outrage_, Florence, do you know what they were insinuating about me?"

Hesitating a bit too long, she scrambled for the right words as his face twisted. "Freddie… I know this is hard to come to terms with-"

"There's nothing _to_ come to terms with! God, have the press addled your mind? Have you been so easily swayed?"

"We both know that there's some truth to it-"

"How?" he demanded, voice wavering just slightly. Suddenly, his demeanor shifted, his tone pleading as he moved closer. "Florence, don't I please you? Aren't I good at it? _You_ know that it's not true."

"I'm just saying, Freddie…" she began, but his proximity was beginning to get to her, leaving her breathless as he slid his hands down her sides.

Well, there was no denying that Freddie knew what he was doing when it came to sex…

But, she wondered, was _he _satisfied?

**The Inn**

Of course he wasn't going to show up. Of course. This was just typical of him.

Florence set her mouth in a thin line, trying to quell her anger. Freddie said rash things when he was angry- he didn't mean them, she told herself, he was just distraught. Who wouldn't be when their sexuality crisis was being aired on international television?

Flipping the board was nothing. He had done worse over the years. She was just glad that he hadn't done anything more impulsive than that, like socked the arbiter- again, it wouldn't be the first time, but this was an important match and he ought not to fuck with it any more than he had to.

She wondered why he had done it… Perhaps, she must, Anatoly was simply too close for his liking. _Or just close enough._ Watching them during the match, the way Freddie's distracted eyes kept flickering up the Russian's body as he made his moves, there was no denying the spark there. It was raw and sexual, some deep emotional yearning that she had rarely ever seen in him before.

Of course Freddie had to go and develop a crush on a _communist_, a Soviet- otherwise there would be no challenge. It was forbidden, and that was exactly the type of romance he preferred.

That much she knew- after all, he had gone after her despite her initial dislike of him, the constant rejection. If Freddie hated anything more than a Russian it was being rejected- and he didn't apparently take no for an answer.

This Anatoly character was intriguing, she'd give him that… Actually, the more wine she indulged him as she bluffed and waited, the more she relaxed, the more amiable he seemed. Freddie had good taste, she thought to herself as a flush spread pleasantly over her cheeks, his smile seeming to ignite every one of her nerves.

Very good taste…

**The Reunion**

One year isn't enough to dispel the guilt that Florence feels when she thinks of the look in Freddie's eyes as she left, arm in arm with the man that he was obviously enamored with.

She knows that she shouldn't have come to Bangkok. There are too many charged emotions, too many open-ended questions that she's not ready to face. Florence was always more of a mother to Freddie, a caregiver, than a proper girlfriend and if she got sick of it after a while then sure, it was fine to leave him alone. She had a life, too, and she wanted to live it.

He'd looked like a kicked puppy for a moment before he composed himself and it had broken her heart. And _that _was why she was going to avoid him at all costs.

As selfish as it seemed in her own mind, she didn't want him to suck her back into his world.

Or maybe she was just afraid...

But no. Anatoly loved her, didn't he? He had said it again and again, the same way Freddie had once showered her with praise and adoration, and she had to believe him. If she didn't then she had left her Freddie for nothing.

Florence refused to be the two-timing bitch that everyone was making her out to be.

She turned a corner, and there he was. Freezing, unprepared, she watched in a horrified kind of awe as he begged and pleaded for her forgiveness, clutched at her hands, pulled her closer… God, but she missed Freddie and for a moment she was conflicted as to what she _really_ wanted.

Anatoly, she reminded herself, and found the strength somehow to reject him.

The look in his eyes was a painful kind of frustration, a hopelessness that actually scared her. And when Anatoly returned for her, looking pissed beyond belief, ranting and raving about the gall of the American, she couldn't help but wonder how much of the look in Freddie's eyes had to do with her- and how much of it had to do with her lover.

**The End**

And in the end, Florence supposes, she was nothing that she thought she had been. An obligation at best, for all of the parties involved. A temptation.

She had held them back for long enough.

It was sweet of Anatoly to consider throwing his match for her, and she had told him as much. But it wasn't enough to save their faltering relationship. She told him that too, and to her surprise he had agreed without dragging it out.

The very end of their relationship was a bittersweet experience.

There was Anatoly, standing dazed by the board as if he couldn't believe it. There was Freddie, the hope in his wide blue eyes almost as heartbreaking as the hopelessness she'd seen previously because she had no idea what Anatoly's next move would be, and whatever it was could make or break the man who had watched him so intently for the better part of two years.

She very nearly turned around and extended her hand, started all over again.

But that would have been redundant.

Freddie was strong. He might not like it but he could fend for himself. And what did she know, anyways? Maybe they he would make something of it someday.

After all, he was Freddie… And Anatoly wasn't exactly the hardest one to seduce. One impulsive move or two and he could have him. That was what Freddie was good at, anyways- how else would he have persuaded _her_ into his bed in the first place?

Climbing into her cab, Florence couldn't help but smile.

If there was anything she could be sure of, it was that she knew him well.


End file.
